


distress galore

by loneliestfox



Category: ASTRO (Band)
Genre: Childhood Friends, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:01:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23573533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loneliestfox/pseuds/loneliestfox
Summary: Moonbin tells him through a fucking text that he’ll be moving to New York City in a month. New York-fuckin’-City.
Relationships: Moon Bin/Yoon Sanha
Comments: 13
Kudos: 54





	distress galore

**Author's Note:**

> crack disguised as dramedy. also i think just an excuse to write sanha as a footlocker employee. enjoy???? yeah

Moonbin tells him through a fucking text that he’ll be moving to New York City in a month. New York-fuckin’-City. Sanha can’t do much, he realises, and swallows his heart and lets it rot between his ribs. He sends back an `oh? so fast?` and presses his face against his pillow because god god god Moonbin is leaving. Moonbin is _leaving_ and his heart still beats for this man who is, by the way, _leaving_. He’s leaving, leaving, leaving and Sanha needs to get the word all comfy and homey in his mouth to train his brain to get comfy and homey with this concept.

The phone dings with a reply but Sanha ignores and kicks it to the floor. He sleeps like that: with his Footlocker uniform still on and head buried in his pillow. He’ll regret it when he wakes up.

Sanha does. He does regret.

The message that Sanha receives from Moonbin the night before reads: `right? but it’ll just be for a bit i think / meet up before i go?` Sanha won’t think it’ll be for a bit, totally ignoring the last text. He thinks like this: Moonbin will get a permanent spot there and fall in love with the city, with someone not _him_ and settles. And Sanha will be rotting away up in South California with a hole in his heart, ringing up kids with their new Nikes.

“Don’t be fucking stupid,” Bomin says, laughing when Sanha spills his emotional innards to him in confidence. But it’s hard, you see, to not be fucking stupid. Because he’s been pining for Moonbin since even before he knew what pining was. He groans and spreads his arms wide across his bedroom floor. Bomin sits on his bed, looking down at him like dirt.

“He’ll forget me,” Sanha mumbles, blinking up at the ceiling. The ceiling has heard many confessions spill out of his mouth. He shuts his eyes close and sighs, “I’m just some punk to him, you know? He’ll fall in love with the city and with someone who actually has the balls to tell him that they like him and I’ll just—” his voice betrays him and cracks “—watch.”

It’s ridiculous as he whines to the ceiling and to Bomin because Moonbin will never look at him like that. Like in love. Yoon Sanha is just the punk next door. He’s just that one kid that never got the message and stuck to him like gum to shoe for years. He’s thankful at least that Moonbin is still putting in effort to maintain contact throughout the years.

Bomin rolls down to the floor and lays next to him, arm spread out, too. But since Sanha’s bedroom is just the size of a cinder block, their arms and legs overlap.

“He won’t forget you,” Bomin says, also looking up to the ceiling. “He loves you too much to do that.”

Sanha scoffs. “No, he doesn’t,” he retaliates and tries to push down all the memories he’s ever had with that son of a gun. No, Moonbin definitely did not always put his head on his lap when they played games, or how he’s always forcing fruits down his throat because Sanha, do you want scurvy at age 20? Moonbin doesn’t care for him at all and here begins Sanha’s plan of self-sabotaging his own crush.

Sanha blinks up once, twice before the tears well up in his eyes. He curls into Bomin, sobbing. Because he’d rather have fucking scurvy than a broken heart at 20.

It’s two days later that Sanha finally meets Moonbin. He swallows hard, avoiding looking at Moonbin’s stupid perfect face as he scans Moonbin’s new pair of Nikes. He’s bagging it when Moonbin says:

“New shoes for the new phase of my life, you know.” Sanha nods, staring at the roll of receipt suddenly printing at an immensely slow pace. “You didn’t reply to my text.”

 _Beep_.

“Here’s your receipt,” Sanha says, ripping the receipt out, and hands it back to Moonbin along with his credit card. Black. Black credit card because he was a man with an internship in his bag and Sanha’s a loser working at Footlocker with a load of student loans bringing him down. They aren’t a match, for sure. He finally looks up at Moonbin; a mistake. “Sorry, I—I’ve been busy with, um. Work.”

“Is this about my internship?” God, it was like Sanha was the book of emotions.

“No!” He says quickly and glances at the clock on the computer screen then back to the skinny kid waiting in line. “I’ll be off in twenty if you wanna talk.”

Sanha doesn’t but Moonbin doesn’t have to know that. An hour later when Sanha steps out of the store with a yellow hoodie on, he sees Moonbin sitting near the fountain. He’s scrolling through his phone, the pair of shoes he’s gotten sitting between his feet.

“Um,” Sanha says as he approaches Moonbin. He looks up, eyes shining. “Hi.”

“What’s wrong with you,” Moonbin sighs and stands up. He tugs hard on Sanha’s hoodie and drags him outside, to the parking lot. “You need a ride, don’t you?”

Technically Moonbin doesn’t need an answer. Everyone knows 20 year old Sanha gets dropped to work by his _mum_ and takes an Uber back. They make it to Moonbin’s car—a Toyota Camry—and Moonbin just stares. Keys in hand and he just stares at Sanha. He looks away, huffing.

“Will you tell me on the way home or back at your house?” He asks, voice strained, and finally unlocks the door with a press of a button. He doesn’t wait for an answer and enters the car. Sanha stares at the passenger door and curls his hands into his fists.

The ride back home is silent, just the whirring of the AC and Sanha’s heart thumping loudly against his chest. Usually if it’s just them in the car it’s anything but. It’s Moonbin swatting Sanha’s hand from controlling the aux and Sanha screaming into Moonbin’s ear. He stares at his hands the entire time, aux cord hanging loosely between them.

“I’m sorry,” Sanha squeaks out when Moonbin finally pulls up into Sanha's driveway. “I really was busy with work” A lie. He’d spent two entire days of work break gaming and eating his feelings away. What _do_ you do when your crush moves across the country? Fucking pilates? “But yes, of course! We should meet up before you go. In a month, right?”

He didn’t realise this before but Moonbin finally relaxes his shoulders. His grip on the steering wheel loosens.

“Yeah, in a month,” Moonbin smiles and bares his teeth. He brings one fist up and knocks Sanha’s head with it. “You punk! I thought you were being all weird suddenly because I was leaving.” He grins then. Soft. “I won’t be there for long, you know.”

Three months. Not long. Okay.

“I know,” Sanha rolls his eyes and holy shit. This is award winning acting right here. Moonbin doesn’t catch anything off about him? Cool cool cool. “Don’t be dramatic, hyung.”

Moonbin does a face. “You haven’t called me hyung since sixth grade,” he says, softly and pinches Sanha’s cheeks. Oh he hadn’t thought about Moonbin touching him because he is warm, like heating up because I am inches away from my crush kind of warm. Then, Moonbin lets go. “I’m free whenever, okay. So just text me? If you don’t text me by the end of this week I’m demoting you to my nobody list.”

Sanha sighs. “What a dream,” he says and quickly runs out of Moonbin’s car, laughing. For a few minutes of Moonbin chasing him around his front yard, it was like nothing was wrong. Moonbin wasn’t moving away and Sanha isn’t madly in love with him.

“Dude, either send the message or go back to work.”

Sanha fumbles with his phone in shock and accidentally presses send. When he hears that familiar sound effect indicating the message has been sent he lets the phone drop to the cold hard ground of the store’s backroom and grumbles into his palms.

“Whoops,” Myungjun says, strutting towards Sanha and picks the phone up for him. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you there.”

Sanha manages a smile to his manager slash cousin and takes the phone back with a thank you. Myungjun’s nice enough to let him go back to the back room every time he’s having an emotional crisis. And lately Sanha’s been disappearing a lot.

“Boyfriend? Girlfriend?” Sanha shakes his head and puts his phone back into his backpack.

“Moonbin,” he says, zipping his bag up. “He’s moving to NYC for an internship.”

Myungjun just nods and pats his back, like he knows. Like he knows something’s bothering Sanha. Like he knows what he’d done when he walked into the store, making Sanha accidentally send a: `can we do kbbq tonight?`

And Sanha’s right about it because thirty minutes before closing Myungjun tells him to fuck off and that he’ll do closing today _for once_. Sanha grins wide and gives a big wet smooch on his cheek. Myungjun screams.

They do kbbq that night and around 10pm Sanha’s already dead drunk. Maybe this was a horrible idea. He reminds himself to curse Myungjun out later at work because, because if any sane person pining for someone was out there, they would definitely not invite their crush out, just the two of them, to a restaurant where they’re at close proximity, knees bumping against each other and _then_ does shots on top of shots on top of shots. Moonbin simply laughs because he’s that fucking nice. He asks: “Work was hard, huh?”

They walk through K-Town, but mostly it was Moonbin dragging Sanha around. He keeps pointing out things he’ll miss like he’ll be gone forever and not ‘just’ three months. Somewhere in their walk Sanha slots his fingers with Moonbin’s.

Then Sanha vomits all over his shoes, four feet away from his car.

“Sanha, I’m going to kill you,” Moonbin grits out through his teeth, iron tight. But Sanha isn’t scared, no Sober Sanha would be but this Sanha is a straight bastard. He lies down on the ground as he watches sideways Moonbin walking to the car to take something. He slams the door shut and procured: a cloth!

“King shit,” Sanha cheers, mouth full of junk and shit.

“Sanha, I’m really going to kill you,” he grumbles, no bite. He helps Sanha sit up because he’s a nice boy like that and wipes his vomit, too, because he’s a nice boy like that. Sanha is in love with a nice boy and he’s okay with it. Moonbin is a nice, nice boy. The nicest boy to ever _nice_.

“Hyuuung,” he drags, body falling forward and into Moonbin’s arms. Tough, sturdy arms that don’t crumble at his weight. He lets himself be carried up to his feet and grins. “I love you soooooooo much!”

Moonbin laughs. “You better, dumbass,” he says and Sanha whines _nooooo_. He’s closing the door before Sanha could even finish his nos. Then he’s rounding the car to the driver’s seat when Sanha cries I love you but not like that, hyung—the door opens—not like that.

Moonbin stares at him, head cocked to the side. God, he’s so fucking cute. Sanha thinks he’d be okay if today was his last day on earth.

“Like what?”

And then he dies.

He doesn’t. He doesn’t die but now he sees that the Oscars are somewhat attainable for him.

He wakes up to his ceiling, to his walls, to his bed—thank _fuck_. He thought, knowing Moonbin, he’d be left at K-Town, dying. Somewhat figures that the fruits in alcohol aren't the fruits Moonbin has been forcing him to eat was about. He meant like actual fruit, like the overpriced ones you get at Whole Foods. Like with fiber and shit. And stickers.

Bleary-eyed, he realises that he might not have died last night but something in him did die.

Moonbin is _leaving_ and that was it. He rolls onto his front and groans.

Moonbin moves back to his parents’ house for a while and it’s really hard for Sanha because it just is, okay. It’s hard to have a constant reminder that he’s here for now, for the next two weeks before he leaves. His mum has relayed her job as Sanha’s personal chauffeur to Moonbin now and it’s _hard_. This heart is shaking his ribs and begging to be let out.

“Okay, so remember freshmen year,” Daehwi says through the speaker. He has his phone wedged between his ear and shoulder as he fusses around his room—where the _fuck_ is his hoodie. “Remember when you were being emotional because, well, we left high school and it felt like a very you versus the world moment in college—”

Sanha groans. “Can you get to the point?”

“You're being ridiculous! You didn’t change much from high school to college, so why’d you think New York would change Moonbin that much?” He grabs the hoodie discarded at the bottom of his closet and snatches it off the floor. “And it’s really just three months.”

“I don’t—I don’t fuckin’ know, okay,” he grumbles and tugs it on himself, momentarily putting his phone down on his desk. He pulls the hoodie over his head. Picks his phone back up. “I just. I’m scared, like, he’s going away soon and I still probably won’t do anything about it. And I’m also scared if he’ll find someone, I don’t know, there. Like, infinitely better than me—”

“Oh my fucking God, Sanha, _I’m_ infinitely better than you and so many people are but the thing is if he loves you back, he won’t care, okay? He’ll choose you,” Daehwi says and Sanha pauses at the top of his stairs. His shift is starting in a few. “If you could pick between dating Moonbin or that Haechan guy from your stupid boy band, who would you pick?”

“Moonbin.”

Daehwi clicks his tongue against his palate. “Exactly.”

So Daehwi has a point. He has a point but is Sanha going to do anything about it? Absolutely not. Will he pine for Moonbin from afar? Absolutely. He walks over to Moonbin’s house and knocks on the door.

“It’s like back in high school again when I used to drop you off at your middle school,” Moonbin laughs, melting Sanha’s bones. He buries his face deep, deep into the depths of his palms, all sweaty and gross. Of course he remembers being in middle school. Moonbin had dyed his hair blonde then and Sanha for the first time in his life didn't know how to breathe.

Moonbin drops Sanha off right at the entrance like he was back in middle school going on his little hangouts with little Daehwi and Bomin. Minhyuk sees him at the entrance and shoots him one big fat shit-eating grin.

“Was that your boyfriend?” He asks as they walk side by side towards their capitalist hell. Sanha sighs. He wishes.

Sanha stares long and hard at the paper in front of him, heart at the ready. It smelled like roses and vanilla. This is a horrible idea but he picks up the pen anyway and begins. _Dear Moonbin_. He stares a little longer and crosses _dear._ On top of it he scrawls: _beloved_.

“Jesus Christ,” he says to himself and tucks his heart and the letter back into his drawer. This is stupid. He’s stupid. Out of everyone he’s ever known he’d decided to pine on the dude that still calls him _kid_ and _punk_? What’ll Moonbin even do when he receives this letter? Abandon his hopes and dreams up in New York City? He’ll probably laugh at his face, ruffle his hair, and call him a punk again. Or, like, punch him. Which is also fine.

It’s D-5 till Moonbin packs it all up and just, go. Leaves. He’s been staring at his desk for too long for it to be healthy, so he goes down and take a swig from one of his older brother’s soju stash and says _fuck it_. He doesn’t expect it to be like this but it is what it is. He’s sitting in front of the fridge, munching on a piece of watermelon and sends `i like you` to Moonbin.

After a short stint, he sends Moonbin `like that` and attaches a sticker with two animated ducklings kissing. Pink hearts burst around it. Gross, but gets the idea across easily.

It’s the asscrack of dawn when he sends it, so he doesn’t expect an immediate answer. He tucks his phone into his sweatpants and takes another long swig from the bottle of soju and slams the fridge shut. A magnet falls to his feet.

Here’s the thing though.

“Oh my God,” is the first thing he says when he wakes up because _oh my god_ Moonbin is leaving in four days. Four days and there’s a confession from him tacked to one of the days on the calendar. He was a terrible person. He kicks the air in frustration and jumps off the bed, immediately heading to his en suite bathroom for a cold shower.

Maybe it was a fever dream. Maybe Sanha didn’t send the text to Moonbin after all. Not like he knows, he still hasn’t checked his phone. Or charged it, for that matter.

Nothing could soothe the thunderstorm in him because—because this isn’t how it’s supposed to be. Out of all the ways he’d planned to never do, through text was never it. He’s a shitty person, a terrible person and he stares at his desk calendar long enough to realise that oh.

Moonbin was to send him to work today.

“Fuck,” he cries.

He tells his mum that Moonbin wasn’t free today and fabricates a lie about a cat and a tree and Moonbin being the absolute nicest person that he was. Well. That wasn’t a lie. He was desperate and his mum seemed to be the same type of clueless as he was. She says okay with a sigh. Driving past Moonbin’s house, Sanha sinks further down his seat. Knees pressed hard against the dashboard.

“You _desperately_ need a driving licence soon, baby,” she tuts. For the first time in a long, long while, Sanha is an hour early for his shift.

Moonbin comes to the store. Of course, he does.

Minhyuk recognises him, somehow from that five second window of Moonbin dropping him off at the mall. He immediately taps on Sanha’s shoulder and says, “That your boyfriend?”

They lock eyes from across the store and Sanha quickly looks away, heart sinking.

“Um,” he says, busies himself with the display. “No.”

“Oh, okay,” Minhyuk says and pats his shoulder. He goes on to entertain another customer, leaving Sanha with Moonbin. He swallows thickly when Moonbin comes to approach him with a shoe.

“Can I have this in size 9?” He says, handing the shoe to Sanha. “Someone I know vomited all over my shoe, so I had to find a replacement.”

Sanha lets out a pained laugh. Chest taut. Says, “Ah.” He scans the barcode attached to the tag of the shoe. In-stock.

“You didn’t reply to my text.”

“I’ll go find in the back,” he replies, tired. Finally looks up at Moonbin, eyes shining, too. “My phone died, sorry.” And then he’s gone, playing prince for his cinderella except his cinderella probably hates him.

“Does it fit?” Sanha asks, voice small. He’s staring at the floor instead of Moonbin and he desperately wishes he could die right now, maybe the floor could open up right now. _Anything_.

“It’s not fair for me, you know,” Moonbin says instead and hands the box of shoes back to Sanha. Sighs. “It fits. I’m buying it.”

The receipt somehow prints at an immensely slow speed, again, and he’s left standing awkwardly while Moonbin just stares. Just fucking stares, not saying _anything_.

_Beep._

“Here’s your receipt,” he says and hands the bag over the counter with the receipt and Moonbin’s shiny black credit card. “Bin hyung, I’m sorry.”

His face doesn’t change at that, no laughter, no fake gag. His eyes soften and quietly, he tells Sanha that he’ll wait. He’ll wait.

The wait is long. Somehow the customers died out about three hours before closing and Sanha’s left shaking his leg from anxiety as he sits on one of the stools meant for the customers. He can _see_ where Moonbin’s waiting and he’s still _there_. God. What is he even going to say? What was Moonbin going to do?

“Hi,” Sanha says. Moonbin’s sitting at the exact same spot as he did the last time. He looks up at Sanha and he tries to focus hard on the sound of the fountain. Woosh. Moonbin has his finger picking onto the rips of his jeans.

“So,” he begins, still sitting down and staring up at Sanha. He is positively burning up. Fire in his gut. “So the text.”

Sanha immediately starts laughing, as painful as it is for him and grabs onto Moonbin’s arm. He pulls him up and drags him outside, out of the mall.

“Can we, um, not do this here?”

“Would you rather in the car where you can’t escape?” Moonbin chuckles.

“Yes,” he gulps. There’s no getting out of this one. “Or I can have my own Lady Bird moment, you know? I can open the door and jump out of a moving car.”

Moonbin pinches his arm. Says, “I won’t let you.”

Sanha doesn’t know why, it’s stupid, but that got him. He folds his lips inwards.

“Okay,” he says and watches Moonbin get his keys out, spins it around his finger. They head towards the car, Sanha still barely holding onto Moonbin’s arm. “Okay.”

In the car Sanha reaches out for the aux cord like usual. Moonbin swats his hand away and plugs his own phone in.

“Thought your phone died,” he says, raising an eyebrow at him. Sanha feels himself getting warmer and warmer by the second. He presses his face closer to the AC.

“So the text,” Moonbin begins again, dragging the end of the sentence as he pulls out of the parking lot and onto the main road. He watches the mall sign blink back at him. “Sanha.”

“I’m sorry,” he finally spits out and groans into his palms. His hands were like his safe haven. He confesses to his hands instead. Says, “I know you’re moving this Saturday and I know it was—it was stupid of me to send that when you’re moving but like, you know, if you think about it you don’t have to handle me after Saturday. If you're mad, I'm sorry. You don’t have to reject me nicely because you've known me since elementary, okay, my mum would still love you and—”

The car comes to a stop. Sanha peeks between his fingers and sees the red light staring back at him.

“You’re rambling,” Moonbin observes. “Sanha, I’m not...I’m not mad at you. And I’m not going to reject you nicely.”

Sanha lets out a wet laugh. “Are you going to punch me?”

He clearly has had this thought be entertained in his mind. Moonbin did muay thai for _fun_. He imagines a fist to his face too many times.

“I’m not even going to reject you at all.” The light turns green. Moonbin presses on the gas. “‘Cause I like you, too.”

What the fuck.

“What the fuck,” he breathes out. He feels worse than getting punched. From his peripheral view, he sees Moonbin throw his head back and laugh. It’s ridiculous. _This_ is ridiculous. What the fuck. “Bin hyung.”

“You’d know if you checked your phone,” he sing-songs, fingers drumming against the steering wheel. “You had your whole life to say that to me and you chose to do it when I was about to leave for a three month long internship. What an absolute bastard.”

Moonbin raises his hand as if to hit Sanha, so as a habit, he flinches. But it never comes. In the stead of a fist against his head, it was Moonbin’s hand over the console, palm facing up.

“Hold my hand,” he says and oh my God. This is really truly absolutely happening. Like this isn’t one of the unattainable fantasies he had when he was sixteen. Sanha’s fucking shaking. He takes a long time to process those three words until Moonbin reaches out to pinch his thigh. “What? You don’t want to hold my hand.”

“No, I do,” he quickly says and slots his hands together with Moonbin’s. Warm. His hand is warm. Sanha looks up to see a dust of pink against Moonbin’s cheeks. Cute. So it wasn’t only him that was dying.

Okay, so maybe more than once Sanha has entertained the idea of Moonbin liking him back when he confesses. He thinks maybe there’d be romantic lighting, pigeons, whatever. It didn’t matter as long as it looked like a poisonous concoction of every k-drama cliche out there.

Sanha doesn’t expect, oh silly him, to have it be in a fucking Camry. Him in his striped ugly uniform and a black credit card in Moonbin’s wallet. But that’s how it goes. Because in the equation all he needed was Moonbin really. When they come around their house, Sanha doesn’t let go. He just wants this for a little bit longer.

“I…” he begins, Moonbin looking at him expectantly. “I’m still...sorry for saying that. I know you’re leaving in a few days and I know it was selfish but I really—” he takes a deep breath “—really like you, Bin.”

Moonbin hums back, squeezing his hand.

“Yeah I think the kissing ducks made the message a little clearer,” he jokes. Sanha pouts. Moonbin laughs. “But yeah, that was pretty selfish of you. What are you going to do then?”

Sanha blinks. “I’ve said sorry?”

Moonbin shakes his head.

“My turn to be selfish, I think,” he says and leans closer and closer. Inches away, being the nice boy that he is, he asks, “Can I kiss you?”

Sanha’s answer accidentally comes out as a stammer. He says, “Y-Yeah,” and Moonbin kisses him, soft and gentle, hands against his cheek. Sanha feels so much, too much. He’s bursting at the seams and he is barely together, hand coming up to curl around Moonbin’s neck.

They pull apart and Sanha chases him.

“I like you, Sanha,” Moonbin says, grinning with a glint in his eyes. “I like you a lot.”

“Oh my God, can you say that again?”

“That you’re selfish?” Sanha whines as Moonbin knocks their foreheads together. “I like you a lot, Sanha.”

“Yeah, I, um,” he says and Moonbin leans back again for a kiss. You know, if he could live 20 years without Moonbin’s kisses he thinks he can survive another three months. Sanha pushes him away, just slightly. “I like you too. A lot.”

Somewhere in Sanha’s house, a room’s light turns on.

“Yeah?”

Sixteen year old Sanha is crying inside. Twenty year old Sanha pulls Moonbin into another kiss again.

“Yeah.”

On Saturday Moonbin uses his finger to sign on Sanha’s palm that he’ll promise to update him three times every week and a video call at least once a week.

“So low maintenance,” Moonbin giggles. “I like my boyfriend. I’m so lucky.”

Sanha still isn’t used to that—being called boyfriend, being specifically Moonbin’s boyfriend. So he does what he knows when he feels squeazy. Scream.

“Shut up!” Sanha cries and pulls his hand away from Moonbin’s grip. He softly screams nooooo, reaching out for Sanha’s hand because he hasn’t written the date under his signature yet. Sanha begrudgingly holds it back out for Moonbin.

Sanha feels like a high schooler again when Moonbin drags him to his room, the one he’s had ever since he was a kid and kisses him against the wall. Next to his cheek was a poster of an indie film Moonbin was obsessed with in freshmen year. On the poster, the two actors were standing on top of a green hill, feets apart. It was a good movie. Moonbin licks into his mouth.

“Is this enough for three months?” Moonbin asks, hand cradling Sanha’s face. Moonbin does this a lot, Sanha realises, on the third day as Moonbin’s boyfriend. He likes holding his face, thumb rubbing against his cheek.

“I think I need another,” he grins. “Just in case, you know.”

Another turns into many many more that it could maybe last Sanha for a lifetime.

At the curb Sanha bites down the inside of his cheek. He can’t cry, this is ridiculous. Moonbin kisses him one last time on the cheek and squeezes his hand.

“I’ll miss you, punk,” he says tenderly, brushing his thumb over Sanha’s knuckles. Moonbin’s dad shoots them a look from the driver’s seat of the Camry.

Moonbin’s mum hugs onto Sanha’s arms as they watch the car drive away together. A few turns and they’re gone from sight. She pats on his arm and invites him in for tea.

In a few Moonbin sends him a picture of the terminal gate. He says i miss youuuuu with several red heart emojis and Sanha wants to cry because he’s so soft and squeazy and in love with this dork. He replies back with a photo of his mum’s tteokbokki.

“Are you sending that to Bin?” She asks, grinning into her cup of tea. Sanha nods, laughing, and pockets his phone. “You’ll stay for a bit, right? Let me show you pics of Bin as a baby.”

Sanha takes another bite of the tteokbokki.

`yoon sanha how could you do this to meeee  
` `i like you too wtf`  
`and yes in that kissing fucking way  
` `DUCKLING********`

**Author's Note:**

> confucius once said that if u dont see the content u want u gotta write it urself and that is a-okay


End file.
